Read Online The Remarkables (The Remarkable Owen Johnson, part 1) by A. D. Elliott - Free Book Online
Authors: A. D. Elliott
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looking cow, looking back at them over its shoulder with questioning eyes. Owen’s knowledge of farm animals stemmed from a single book he had read when he was younger, but he recognised the cow as belonging to the Highland cattle breed due to its long wavy red coat and two large horns. Whilst there was nothing remarkable about the way the cow was behaving, Owen had the feeling that behind its eyes lay an intelligence that he had never before attributed to a farmyard animal (although he was at a loss as to why he thought this).
Mrs Argyle was returning the cow’s stare, as if waiting for a response of some kind. Whilst standing and watching this strange interspecies staring competition, Owen realised that his hands were tingling again, just as they had been earlier in the day; both when he was climbing the building, and when he was confronted by the man in the trilby.
He held up his hands to examine them , and went to make a fist. He felt something firm and chalky in his hands. Whatever it was that he had managed to grasp was as invisible to his eyes as all of the previous objects he had similarly interacted with. Again, he noticed the feint glow and odd distortion to the space around his hand, and when he let go, there appeared to be a white powdery residue on his palms, suggesting that it was indeed a lump of chalk or similar that he was handling. He felt the fine powder between his fingers and tentatively brought it towards his nose, but it was odourless. Finally he ran his fingers through the space in which he had held onto the object, but they passed through the air unhindered.
Owen turned around to examine the space around him, and noticed that both Mrs Argyle and the cow were watching him intently.
“Hands feel funny?” she asked, and patted him on the back and smiled.
“I felt something,” Owen said and pointed at the spot that he had made contact with the elusive rock, “ it was there, I could feel it. But now it’s gone.” Owen continued to look around him, peering up to the sky to see whether it had continued its gravity defying ways by rocketing upwards (it had not).
Mrs Argyle followed his line of vision, shielding her eyes from the sun, which had decided to peak out from behind the clouds. “I doubt the heavens will be able to answer your questions, Owen,” she said wistfully, “but, as they say: I know a man who can.
“ Come along; let’s go the long way around, she looks like she’s in a mood.” Mrs Argyle gestured with her thumb at the apparently moody cow, and turned and walked to the left, towards where the canal and towpath ran.
Owen followed obediently, noticing the cow was following their progress but remained stood still. It didn’t look particularly grumpy, but he knew very little about the behaviour of animals so once again he trusted in his neighbour’s wisdom.
They walked through some trees and across a narrow stream, which Owen managed to slip over in, dirtying his second top of the day. Mrs Argyle helped him upright and led him on so that they emerged on the canal towpath.
There were several barges moored, but no ne of their occupants were in sight. Mrs Argyle carried on walking until she reached the last one. Unlike the other vessels which were festooned with decorative artwork, this one was completely black and very, very shiny, so that the glossy sides clearly mirrored their reflection. This included the windows, behind which black curtains were drawn. The only markings on it were the barge’s name, written untidily in red paint in such a way that it looked like it was dripping wet. ‘Beggars’ Banquet’, it read.
Mrs Argyle climbed onto the bough. “Ken!” she called out. She knocked loudly on the front door. “Open up you grumpy old sod, you’ve got visitors.”
Flood
The door swung open to reveal a dark cabin from which little light escaped. Mrs Argyle climbed through the doorway, and after pausing to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness,
Mrs Argyle was returning the cow’s stare, as if waiting for a response of some kind. Whilst standing and watching this strange interspecies staring competition, Owen realised that his hands were tingling again, just as they had been earlier in the day; both when he was climbing the building, and when he was confronted by the man in the trilby.
He held up his hands to examine them , and went to make a fist. He felt something firm and chalky in his hands. Whatever it was that he had managed to grasp was as invisible to his eyes as all of the previous objects he had similarly interacted with. Again, he noticed the feint glow and odd distortion to the space around his hand, and when he let go, there appeared to be a white powdery residue on his palms, suggesting that it was indeed a lump of chalk or similar that he was handling. He felt the fine powder between his fingers and tentatively brought it towards his nose, but it was odourless. Finally he ran his fingers through the space in which he had held onto the object, but they passed through the air unhindered.
Owen turned around to examine the space around him, and noticed that both Mrs Argyle and the cow were watching him intently.
“Hands feel funny?” she asked, and patted him on the back and smiled.
“I felt something,” Owen said and pointed at the spot that he had made contact with the elusive rock, “ it was there, I could feel it. But now it’s gone.” Owen continued to look around him, peering up to the sky to see whether it had continued its gravity defying ways by rocketing upwards (it had not).
Mrs Argyle followed his line of vision, shielding her eyes from the sun, which had decided to peak out from behind the clouds. “I doubt the heavens will be able to answer your questions, Owen,” she said wistfully, “but, as they say: I know a man who can.
“ Come along; let’s go the long way around, she looks like she’s in a mood.” Mrs Argyle gestured with her thumb at the apparently moody cow, and turned and walked to the left, towards where the canal and towpath ran.
Owen followed obediently, noticing the cow was following their progress but remained stood still. It didn’t look particularly grumpy, but he knew very little about the behaviour of animals so once again he trusted in his neighbour’s wisdom.
They walked through some trees and across a narrow stream, which Owen managed to slip over in, dirtying his second top of the day. Mrs Argyle helped him upright and led him on so that they emerged on the canal towpath.
There were several barges moored, but no ne of their occupants were in sight. Mrs Argyle carried on walking until she reached the last one. Unlike the other vessels which were festooned with decorative artwork, this one was completely black and very, very shiny, so that the glossy sides clearly mirrored their reflection. This included the windows, behind which black curtains were drawn. The only markings on it were the barge’s name, written untidily in red paint in such a way that it looked like it was dripping wet. ‘Beggars’ Banquet’, it read.
Mrs Argyle climbed onto the bough. “Ken!” she called out. She knocked loudly on the front door. “Open up you grumpy old sod, you’ve got visitors.”
Flood
The door swung open to reveal a dark cabin from which little light escaped. Mrs Argyle climbed through the doorway, and after pausing to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness,
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